Original Sin
by Despicable A
Summary: Sam and Lucifer are one and the same. Castiel failed in his mission to destroy Sam before it was too late and he has been given another chance to redeem himself. Loosely based on Season Five ep The End.
1. Chapter 1

My first thought upon waking was that maybe I was dead. It wasn't until much later that I realised how accurate that initial, intuitive and seemingly irrational notion was. It popped into my consciousness as soon as consciousness itself appeared. It made no sense. It was based upon no reason. It was just there.

_I must be dead._

And as quickly as it had come, the thought was gone again, and my eyes are opened.

The casket waits there at the end of the aisle, white and wreathed in flowers, calla lilies arching like small, soft trumpets from their greenery. The lid closed up tight, of course, an open casket wasn't permitted.

I slide into the nearest pew and close my eyes. How did this happen? Is it possible to go back through the weeks, months, years even, to trace out some pattern of inevitability, some evidence of a chain of events well beyond my ability to change or control?

The music starts, majestic pipe organ chords fill every conceivable space. There is a crack of old wood as someone settles beside me on the pew. A man, wearing a beige trench coat. I know him well. He's flipping through a booklet and as he closes it and prepares to stand with the rest of the shuffle-footed congregation I gasp as I see the back cover, see her, head tilted to one side with that smile I know so well, lips parted to reveal the merest glimmer of teeth. Her eyes bright green, wide open and almost iridescent against the pale, lightly freckled skin of her face. Her hair, all the colour of a rich, dark wine.

When was it taken, how long ago? A year at least, more likely two; there's none of the gauntness that stole over her in recent months, no hint of the panicked shade of madness. So, two years then, yes. Right about the time I found him or, rather, the time he found me.

I close my eyes and when I open them again I'm standing on a beach. Small, ash-coloured pebbles crunch beneath my feet instead of sand, and the water is a grubby, washed-out grey. Behind me, tall cliffs rise to a cloudy sky. It's beautiful, in its own stark way. A bitter wind whips my face and I shove my hands deep into the pockets of the coat I'm wearing. Dark blue, it smells of smoke.

The place is deserted, lacking even the familiar screech of seagulls, and I have no idea how I got here. A steep, narrow path winds up the sides of the cliffs and I suppose I must have come down that way, but why am I here in the first place? And where _is_ here anyway?

'Ireland.'

The man from the funeral is standing beside me. 'The wind is a killer, isn't it? Strange, the things you remember.'

'Am I dreaming this?'

He pauses a moment to consider. 'In a way. But it's more than that. Right now we're somewhere between dream and a memory. Not really asleep, not fully awake – at least, you're not.'

Why here, I want to know. Why bring me here?

'It's peaceful,' he adds. 'Don't you think?'

'It's cold.'

'Yes,' and he turns. 'We can go somewhere else, if you like.'

Abruptly, the wind stops and I find myself inside a small, dingy room. Not much to speak of by way of furnishings: a single mattress wedged in the corner topped up by a mess of crumpled blankets, books stacked up against the walls, a couple of wooden chairs and table, it's scarred surface littered with paints and brushes and turpentine-filled jars, even a half-eaten sandwich. My home. In the centre of the room, an easel supports an unfinished canvas, a self-portrait, all angles and sharp lines: Picasso meets car crash. I pick up a wet brush and smear a messy line across the canvas, cutting across my face.

'Why did you do that?' the man asks.

'It was ugly.' I turn to face him. 'Why did you bring me here?'

'You wanted to come here,' he replied. 'You can be anywhere you want to be. I'll show you how. We can use your memories if you like.'

'Why would I want to be here?' I've done nothing in my life worth revisiting – being trapped in my past would be worse than living a nightmare.

'Then tell me what you _do_ want.'

'I want to sleep. Not be dragged down memory lane.'

'You can sleep when you're dead.'

'I thought I was.'

'Remember what you've been offered, Fallon. It's more than others would get.'

I'm laughing. Honestly, what did I think would happen? I haven't the slightest clue how any of this works. 'Are you referring to my new found status as a glorified zombie? Should I accept, of course.'

'I can leave you here, you realise. Take it all away except the void.'

The expression on his face as he leaves the room is indecipherable. The door closes behind him, but not before I catch a glimpse of the dark-ended hallway beyond, long and narrow.

'Wait.' Following close at his heels, opening the door to…nothing. A colour undefinable: not black, not white, but both and yet neither. I turn back to the room only to find that it's vanished too, replaced by the same rolling shadows of non-colour, the same dimensionless void. Only the doorframe I'm holding on to retains any sort of substance and I sink slowly to my knees, frightened of losing my balance on the thin strip of wood which is all that remains of the floorboards.

Pressing myself close against the frame, I focus on the wood, the chips and the scratches and the two deeply engraved letters someone has carved there with a knife.

_DW_. His initials – some imagined element or an actual memory?

'Where do you want to be, Tessa?'

His voice is everywhere and nowhere, inside my head and out of it as well.

'Stop it, Castiel. Please.'

'Do you want me to leave you here?'

'No!' Shrieking the word, hating the panic in my voice but unable to contain it. To be left with nothing…I've never been more terrified.

'You will do as I instruct?'

Afraid of what horror my refusal might unleash, I nod. 'Yes, I'll do it.'

My fingers are no longer just grasping the door frame but digging into it, sinking through like it's clay. The void swirls all around me but somehow I'm not falling. Then something pulls at me, a soft insistent tugging and my name is being called, faint at first and far away but growing stronger and more commanding. Not Castiel, but another voice altogether, foreign and unrecognisable, the voice of the void maybe as it threatens to tear me apart, dissolve me into itself, and I open my mouth to scream, to affirm my very existence until the very last-

They say when you die you're whole life flashes before your eyes, from birth to death. This is true. So it came as no surprise that when you're brought back, it' the opposite. Like someone hit the rewind button. I don't know exactly how far back Castiel is taking me but the void finds me again, the giant colourless mouth gaping open and I moan, too exhausted to fight it any longer, squeezing my eyes shut as it moves slowly over to swallow me whole.

Something wet and icy cold hits me, the shock so sudden that I open my eyes. Castiel stands over me, the empty jug in his hand still dripping from the rim.

'I saw it on an episode of _I love Lucy_,' he starts to explain. 'Sorry.' It was clear he spoke with false concern.

There is no sensation whatsoever outside my own body and I hug my knees close to my chest, right hand clutching left wrist, feeling for the beat of my pulse. Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

There is an eerie silence, and I find myself switching on the TV and the radio just to fill the background with static noise. It surprises me that the electricity is still on. It's been four days since Castiel brought me back, not just in time, but in a different world altogether. I look out the window to the cracked streets below me littered with rubble, upturned cars and the remnants of crumpled buildings – a world ravaged by Croatoan.

It's everywhere, plastered in red on every door and wall. I see it in the eyes of those possessed as they wander aimlessly through the streets searching for…what? I don't know. I've scoured the streets and I haven't seen or heard from a single living soul and I'm beginning to wonder if I am alone here, and if so, why did Castiel bring me here, to this place, at this time?

I turn back to face my tiny apartment. It seems this is the only place that has remained untouched by time, covered in bubble wrap stored away safe and sound. A reminder of what will be lost if I don't succeed with Castiel's plan. Kill Sam Winchester. Easy enough, right?

As a fellow hunter I know Sam Winchester all too well. I know his strengths, but most importantly, I know his weaknesses - or weakness to put it more simply.

There is something about Dean Winchester that makes things deep inside me begin to stir, and tingle, and…ache. I'm suddenly reminded of the initials carved into the doorframe, would they still be there? I walk to the door and kneel on the floor, tracing my fingertips down the frame until they feel the small scratchy indents in the wood. And there they were. Two letters. DW. Dean Winchester. I close my eyes and the feeling of longing that had plagued me from the moment I set eyes on him washes over me. The longing to be closer. To touch. To feel those hands on my body, those lips on…

No. I won't let those thoughts linger. To get to Sam I have to get through Dean first and having those kinds of feelings for him will only make it harder. What I needed to do was bigger than all of us. I have no time, or the right, for such thoughts.

I get to my feet and return to the window. Beyond the horizon of the fallen buildings lay a forest that wrapps itself around half of the city, its trees awash in russet and scarlet and gold. It seems miles away from me. Isolated. Lonely, Calling out to me.

I had to go and I have no idea why I was so compelled. My common sense had always dictated I should pay attention to my feelings, so I do. I laugh when I realise I've locked the door to my apartment behind me. Habit, I guess.

Walking through the empty city is bittersweet. I pass at least a dozen croats who pay me no attention whatsoever. They are no worry for me. I'm invisible to them. After all, what would the possessed want with the dead? Which brings me back to the fact that I am actually dead. That thought hits me like a sack of rocks. I died five days before my funeral so that makes it nine days in total. I always wondered what life was like after death. I never pictured it would be like this.

I reach the edge of the city as the sun begins to set behind me. Already the forest is dark and uninviting and I think of my apartment, safe in the city where nothing will ever bother me. Then I think of the void that Castiel threatened to leave me in if I didn't comply. A chill along my nape turns icy. I shiver, and everything in me goes tense and tight. I shake my head and push on through the low brush that skirts the forest.

There are no paths and I have no idea what direction to take so I just let my feet lead the way and soon I'm running, speeding over uneven ground, through a clearing that is lush with grass. I have been running for at least an hour, I think, and haven't tired at all. I keep on running because there is an ecstatic rush to it that I can't understand.

I leap over boulders and limbs that appear in my path. I jump through a stream and expect to land somewhere in the middle of it, but I clear it instead. Finally I stop to take stock of where I am.

I have run into a stand of forest, a woody little paradise, its floor lined with fallen leaves. I walk through it to its edge and look out to see what lay beyond.

A stretch of dirt path, curving into what appears to be a small town is in the distance. I see a tall pointed church steeple. I see several oversized barns, and lots of little houses. They are clustered together in some places, farther apart in others. Smoke wafts from one chimney, and I smell wood burning. But my eyes fall on one place in particular, a place well beyond a cluster of homes. It's surrounded by trees and a tall wire fence. Lights come into view then. Headlights, as a vehicle rolls closer and closer on the road below. I start to move carefully down the hill and follow the car.

It's black. Big and black. An SUV, I think. An expensive one. It stops in front of the fence and waits, the engine idling. After a minute the fence parts and opens like a gate. The car moves forward and I realise this may be my only way in. Who knows how long it will be until it opens again. And now I have the perfect opportunity to sneak in after it under the cover of darkness.

I slip through the gate just as it is about to close. The car is way ahead of me and I veer to left and follow a line of trees that will keep me hidden from the fat moon that now fills the sky. I stop behind a tree with a trunk at least five times as wide as me and peer around it.

What I see is more of a compound than a single building surrounded by trees and a fence. There is one main house made of timber that is worn and weathered. The black SUV is parked out the front, but still I see or hear no one. There are five or six smaller dwellings made from the same timber and a large red barn that shadows them all. I head towards it; that would be shelter for the moment. And from there I will plan my next move.

I spend a good portion of the night seated in the corner of the barn behind sacks of what I think is flour. I have heard several voices, none that I recognise, but I still stay planted to my spot. I haven't formed a plan and I'm not sure what's keeping me here. But I figure seeing Dean might have something to do with it. Truthfully, I'm quite nervous, which is ridiculous. What's the worst that could happen? He could shoot me but that would be pointless. He might not even remember me. Before I can dwell on how horrible that would be he comes into view.

He is almost to the barn and deep in thought when he stops walking and lifts his head, suddenly picking up the clear scent of another. Standing utterly still, he honed his senses, feeling for the presence, sensing for any sign of a threat. His gaze shoots right to me. So much for a plan.

'Fallon? A flicker of doubt, his lips faltering. 'It is you, right?'

'Hey, Dean.'

Realisation dawned. There was something about the man who stands across the barn, staring at me. I saw surprise in his eyes, followed by suspicion and a hint of fear, though why would he be afraid of me? I hadn't expected that reaction. That he would fear me made no sense.

My gaze ran over him again and again, as if drinking him in, and the more I looked, the more relieved I felt. My attention lingered on his face because I was suddenly helpless to look elsewhere. So much in those eyes – restless, reckless things. He looks older than I remember.

'Tell me what you're doing here,' he said, breaking the silence. His voice touches my nerve endings.

I step out from behind the sacks and we're face to face. 'I came to find you.' I reach out to touch his face but he backs away and pulls a gun one me. Just as I thought. 'Dean,' I plead.

He raises it higher and presses it against my forehead. 'You're dead,' he says. 'I watched you being buried.'

I force a smile and nod. 'You're right, Dean. Please, don't be afraid of me.'

'Oh, I'm not,' he says confidently.

'Good. Now maybe you can lower the gun?' Even though I knew it could do no damage, I still felt uneasy with it pointed at me.

Slowly, Dean lowered the gun and licked his lips. 'Let me guess, you were plucked from the grave, and you're free to just wander the world as you please?'

'Wouldn't be the first time, would it, Dean?' I smile but with no emotion.

He gives me a sideways glance and I swallow hard. 'Why?' he asks.

'I don't know,' I lie. 'I woke up in my old apartment to this…' I stretch out my arms 'new world.'

'And you somehow found your way here?'

'I can't explain it, Dean. Something drew me here.'

'You're apartment is on the other side of the city. How did you avoid the croat's. There everywhere.'

I shrug and smile at him. 'I guess death has its perks.'

He doesn't find it funny. Dean lunges at me and takes hold of my wrist, squeezing tight. I don't fight him. I know what he's doing. Dean has never taken anyone's word for it, he prefers the physical approach. He's looking for a pulse.

'You won't find one,' I say. He ignores me.


End file.
